he That thus is guarded to Eternity He had three Wives of blessed memory Who certaine are in heavens rich treasury By two he issue had by th'ould one none They and their of-sp'ring all to blisse are gone In peace they liv'd in love and peace they di'de Enjoying honse-roome with the lambe and bride Dame Fretchvill Bowes and Bellis were their names Whose good deedes doe perpetuate their fames A fourth survives whose goodnes 'mongst the rest From all the foure winds stiles her selfe by West She ranck'd in honours file does claime due share From the ennobled house of Dela-ware Deathes Image sleepe hath stolne his soule away His body till the last Trumpe restes in clay On Sir GILBERT KNIVETON Knight and Baronnet VVHen first thy active person made resort Both to the English and the Danish Court No favorite then liv'd in more reguard Then noble Kniveton Or freer gave reward Vpon desert and merit The stately Court Where men of all degrees of garbe and port Extant to practise some for complement Yet runne at randome from the Element Some to make faces Curtifies and Congees As if they were disjoynted in their knees Some meerly study fashions some paynt At pleasure making of a divell a Saint And some more sacred wits purer and fine That studied nothing but what was divine For there 's of all trades like a Mart or Faite And thither all soâ—tes of people make repaire Retir'd from thence thy â—leasures tane away Thou practis d gratitude a neerer way Zeale to thy God which evermore shall prove A living Monument of lasting Love A hand like harvest alwayes free and open Affable in lookes curteously spoken In thy Converse the poorest swaine might be Allow'd all language open firme and free An eye and brow that never frownd but when Grosse appetites predominated men A tongue that wisely could with cares dispence To 'th people love allegeance to his Prince Not covetous of Honor Pompe or State As free from enmity as love from hate Wise in thy countrys cause yet now and then Subject to errours like to other men Yet those that knew how faire a treasury Of goodnesse in thy noble brest did ly What all refined sweetnes well might sweare Thy rarenes thee proclamd they Muses heire Thy noble off-spring still does droope and groane Like crazy buldings thou there pillar gone Bradley laments thy losse for there thy name Long time hath livd in King and countrys fame But vaine are stately fabricks narrow roomes Will serue to beare us and our rotten toombes On the Lady Greffith Wife to Henry Greffith Baronnet and daughter of Henry Willoughby Baronnet T Is not a sin thus to expostulate And aske the causes why untimely fate Crops the bladed corne before ' its eard Kills fruite i th blossome and Lillies new appeard But 't is great pity that these goodly creatures The braverys and raritys of natures Should be untimely by Times Sythe cut downe Before their perfitenes and worthes are knowne Vnto the world and thereby to deprive The earth and Nature of what worthes they give If this be sin and pity then pale Death I le dare thee to a combat which whiles breath Retaines this mansion till thy fatall dart Those ould companions soule and body part Shall ne'r be finished and I know till then Thy hatred cannot cease to mortall men Yet I defie thee knowing that here tody Is but a preface to eternity Here has thy malice showd it selfe to steale That sacred lampe of love and perfect zeale Honors perfection patterne of Piety Light unto Grace Goodnes Nobility Was there one riches which this world did foulde That in her litle world she did not hould Yet rave'nous Tyger thou did'st her annoy Before she tasted of an earthly joy Just in the early Spring-time of her age Thou sent'st her on her short liv'd pilgrimage Hence questionles she did on Cherubs fly To the great Palace of eternity Where 'mongst the Hierarchies she sings in partes Joyes inexpessible by men or artes But that 's no thanks to death for the best will Thou hast in doing well is doing ill And how can that be good since there 's a text Divinely contradicts it and has annext Curses unto it but I waste my breath The law has limits none must kill save Death Thy sting oh Death thy cruell sting I say Destroid this goodly parragon of May This lovely Juni'an Rose that did display Those Cretan spices sweeter nor the day Those sacred leaves of honour lampes of love Which made pale Envies selfe her selfe reprove Earth held no ricâ—es which she could not finde For she had cabin'd goodnes in her minde Yet lent it out still I not on usury But for th' encrease of goodnes treasury Vnsated Caniball I 'le raile on still Although I know th' art limited to kill Could not the Earth suffize thee there to roame But that thy meager paunch must build a tombe Robbing a consecrated Temple thereby To steale true goodnes sacrilegiously Nay to subvert posterities that 's a bane That will perpetually on thee remaine She the faire prop of foure faire goodly towres Is undermind and falne but God-like powres Have left one goodly branch which spite of thee May propagate and make posterity Vn-numberlesse so shall Willoughby In Willoughby beget new heraldraie And Knowles shall tell thy malice and I pray The G 〈…〉 ffin may of thee beget the day As questionlesse th'All-seer has assignde it And tâ—y posterity shall surely finde it Then shall the Bird of Pallas change her note And clutch the Hare out of the Greyhoundes throate And the gould Griffin which is foe to none Still shall innovate this noble union The Elephant with his vast truncke shall turne Those eys to laughter that in sorrowes mourne All shall consigne in one and with this Ave Caution each other adsum cave Thus great destroyer know that silly I Lesse feare thy malice then did feare to dy This noble Lady all have from nature breath And all are sure nought's certainer then death On WILLIAM FARRINGTON of Salterstord Esquire March the 14. 1633. WILLIAM FARRINGTON Anagramma Farwell I am gon Which Anagramizde by conversion even Farwell I am gon from Earth to Heaven VVHat Epithete more shall I give Then for to say thou still dost live The Reader saith how may that be Does that man live noe man can see I answer thus all die to live Therefore that Epithete I 'le give I neede not praise thee goodnes known Needs no Laudare's But her own I must lament thee 'cause the Earth Growes barren and yields no such birth Known griefes are dumbe and such are mine Thy joyes aboundantly doe shine I adde but coale to flaming fuell Death has stolne away my jewell I dare not wrastle 'gainst harsh fate Yet needes must waile thee though to late Thou wert no wrangling contester No covetous poore-molester No plodding polititian But plainly a right honest man Say more that list more will not I
blood Thrice happy he that so departed hence In lambe-like patience Sacred innocence Before he ever tastes earths pompous drosse So to gaine heaven a happy saint like losse Conspir'd you all did you oh fates conspire To crop this goodly tender growing spire Did you and death Herodian like agree To worke on innocents a Tragedie Could no low Brambles but the talest Tree In all the forrest give satietie To your dire vengeance is Bloud Honors State At no more price then Birthes of meaner rate Since Adams mourn'd fall was there noe degrees No diff'rence in bloud no diversities 'Twixt Kinges and Cottagers no not with death His paile-eyd horse rides mortals out of breath And 't is small wonder for 't is often seene Rough Winter blowes upon the Summers Queene The youthfull Spring growne almost to his prime By Northren blasts does instantly decline Both ould and young are equall in degrees For death saies mortalls are but Natures fees She keepes her Courtes At her exchequor day All must receive or if they owe all pay Her rowles are open every man may read Her just allowance how her pathes to tread And he that derogates from her behests Is streight way summond to her court of questes Somtimes her tearmes she warily rejournes Making the dead tree live that sadly mourns Lives sap being spent contrarily The plant new grafted she makes for to dy As she has done this noble Impe of fame Just when his lives bright candle 'gan to flame Life like a Taper that gives others sight Consumes and wasts in lending its owne light For all estates at Deathes shrill Trumpets call In her star-chamber must be personall The bodys goods as beauties strength and health Which alwayes are esteemd the bodys wealth And eke the soules as manners milde and art Which still doe governe mans diviner part Also the wills as Justice Wit and Vertue Which unto her as attributes are due Are of no prise nor vigor in the scale For when death comes there 's nothing can prevaile His bounds are boundlesse his malitious Ire Is like an Aetna or consuming fire All mortalls are his buts all lives the aime At which he shootes and never loses game Death 's an engrosser still say what man list He scornes his lawes is a monopolist What greater malice could a Tyrant showe That had the whole world set his gesse to goe Where he might finde soules pinch'd with poverty That sâ—de and prai'd each minute for to die Sape-gode usurers that ne're did make An honest act for Law or conscience sake These were no diet for thee mischiefes sonnes The aptest are for thy companions Those second helpes which Nature does bestow Which in her treasury of Earth still grow Ordaind for mankinde could not physicke make From her large store one compound that would take His dainty palat no 't was then in vaine For he did Physicks helpe and life disdaine And like a man enforced for to goe A longer journey then he first did know Cries Doctor spare thy physicke for to day To morrow I 'le take all and thee obey Sweet divinity when so sweet a child Reproves Hippocrates with speeches milde Presageing that his Esculapian Was absolute his soules Physitian Yet knew not he to sinne his tender yeeres Though all were borne in sin that ambage cleares His mothers griefes and honourd fathers praires Vnpenetrable were in thy dull eares Thou hast no hart and pity cannot enter In any bosome where there 's no center Dull is my Muse yet my prophetique fire That slowly flames burnes constant in desire To quench thy malice monster now I see Why thou hewdst downe this goodly growing Tree This Princely lovely gall-lesse harmelesse dove Mirrour of infancy patience and love I 've found the cause of thy invetraterage Thou killd'st his brother 'bout the selfe same age And 'cause the Conquerour of Brittains Ile Was nam'd William famous'd for his stile Therefore successively thy malice runnes To kill two Williams natures champions For as th' one Phoenix out of flames did rise The other Phoenix into Ashes flyes And like Joves Eagle leaves this vale of Earth Mounting Elizium for a second birth Where death nor time nor envy candeface Nor ought diminish of his heavenly grace Farewell blest babe lawrell decks thy browes Deathes live'ry ours the saddest cipres boughes Epitaph on the same REader behold a wonder here A childe here lyes that did not fâ—are Pale death 〈◊〉 hee valiantlie Spurnd fate death and destinie Warriour-like he met his soe The aged wretch dares not doe soe See what a guarde has innocence O're all it beares preeminence It loves not life cares not for breath It conquers sinne Hell Paine and Death It is the Sword and Shield of Faith The just man there his ground-forme laith Then happy thou bless'd honour'd jem Sweet morning Starre bright Diadem Th' ast gainde a Conquest by thy fall For Earth the Heavens high tribunall Death surely was in love with thee Cybele on Atys doated so did hee Her love transform'd him to a Pine Soe death did thee 'mongst pow'res divine Marble will moulder thy name will live And harbour unto vertue give Then Reader underneath doth lie As much Innocence as could die On the well learned and truely noble Gentleman Sir PETER FRETCHVILLE of Stalie COttons great fame learning birth and worth The Genti of our Nation hath set forth And worthily compared him to a booke Writ by the thrice three maids On which to looke Is full perfection why may not we Renownâ—d Peter reade thy Historie Each word containd a subject every line Was worth a Kingdome that was all Divine His body natures noblest frame was strong His silver haires proclaimd him ever young The Graces throng'd together him to court Nay you would sweare this man was vertues foart Where learning bounty courage met in one Striveing to place themselves in vertues Throne There all the lies of goodnes joyntly grew Dressing themselves to render merit due Each limbe of him each arter nerve and veine Did in themselves a Microcosme containe There charity in her rich robe was dress'd Here liberality at full express'd VVithin his bosome there lay aptitude And there sat bounty kissing fortitude Hospitality almost dead and gone He did againe bring to perfection Adorning her in Heavens Skie colloured hue For poverty is characterd in blue She at his gates was answerd every day Before she knock'd she had her Almes and pay Where others stretch their lands as men wrest cloth Stretching it on the tenter-hookes when both The Farmer and the keeper cursing cry Their hands are barrd from publicke charity Yet then this Nestor of experience Tooke pity on his tennants indigence The third part he enjoyd he had no more Such Land-lords never did make Tennants poore Aged he was if reckond by his yeeres But you would deeme him young seeing his haires More white then Snow or Milke his gratefull worth Got him the name of white Knight of the North His
Country still laments him and doth weepe Since he that was her eie is falne asleepe Staley retaines but his impurer part Heaven hath his soule his best part we in hart On the right Honorable HENRY Lord STANHOT of the North Knight of the Bath Son to the right Honorable PHILIP Earle of Chesterfield and KATHERIN his noble Countesse Anno. 1634. LIves there an eye of Honour did not weepe 'Cause thou so suddenly did'st fall a sleepe Oh yes even Vertues selfe did sadly mone 'Cause thou so suddenly to heaven was gone And yet this Crowne shee sets upon thy head Thy Vertues are alive though thou be dead Who ever knew thee did not waile thy fall Or wept not at thy solemne funerall Such hopes thy Country had such joyes the state And yet to see they both unfortunate Hopes had thy Country of a Patriot The state a Counsellour though new begot Borne Man even from his Cradle yet oh see How sudden vanishes maturitie Just like the Lilly fairest of the field Which does her bravery to th'sickle yield Or like the flower that opens with the Sunne And falls and dies before his course is runne Thus did this noble sprigge of honour fall Even from perfection to a Buriall And yet to say so were detraction Since he is gone hence to perfection For so much goodnes wisedome knowledge arts Such rare endowments and such sacred parts Such gravity as if experience had Invested him and in her robes him clad Such Activenes of body acute wit As if the Muses in his brest did sit And there kept court instructing him all rules And abstruse secrets of their holy schooles Nay what unto him did not they impart Urania had enshrind him in her hart And all these rarities to be complide In one not twenty one before he dide Great pity that a fabricke of this state Should crazy fall and subject be to fate But vaine are teares there 's litle to be sed For each of him is disinherited He had a brother who in 's prime of youth Allmost arriv'de unto his perfect grouth Pale death and time cut off whose most deere losse He did embrace with such a heavinesse That from his day of death unto his owne His Brothers dying day was ever knowne Entombd that day o th' weake in s chamber he Solemnely kept his brothers Obsequie There did his owne true worth his worth confine In meditations siting a Divine Rare presidents of Honor chiesly young What would his age have brought had he liv'd long But he is gâ—ne and with him went our teares For certainly he now needs not our prayers Yet such rare presidents ought not for to lye Entombd and buried in obscurity His joyes are full and now we may expresse More joy in him then cause of heavinesse He dies not that so dies but lives againe Immortally from anguish griefe or paine On CHARLES STANHOP first brother to the Lord HENERY and third Son to PHILIP Earle of Chesterfield KATHERIN his noble Countesse NO sooner are my Summer blessings come But streight comes Autumne and rough Hyems on Whose rugged browe proclaim 's sadde disasters Nights stormes tempests day-consuming wasters No sooner did our Sunne of comfort shine Nor bright Aurora with her silver shrine After tempestuous daies and dim-eide nights By their fresh beames and rarified lights But newly perfected in comes a storme Allmost as great as that but newly borne Eclipsing our fresh glories and in cares Makes us a fresh for to begin ould teares No sooner was our honourd HENRY gone And our late mourning weeds past putting on Our memory or backs I streightway does come The death of CHARLES that strikes all joyes dumbe Oh thou most sacred Jewell golden Time Thou pretious Jem of Jems thou all divine Thou fleeting shade unsubstantiall thing Thou that art nothing yet of all the King whoo 'd be lavish of thee this president Should make us chary how our Time is spent We may in thee behold how vaine is man In all his actions doe the best he can This goodly slower but yesterday new blowne By Times untimely sythe to day cut downe This goodly Garden in whom searse grew weedes This lovely full-eard corne that ne're lent seedes Fitting a seedenesse is tane from th' earth Before it had maturity or birth This lovely Pine-tree when his Aples shone With rosy cheekes like Phoebus in the Zone Is hewd and falne just in his Prime and growth Even in the early spring time of his youth But Death and Time are Twinns if one cryes on Thought is not swifter then the act is done Death thou art mercilesse and thy rigor such As makes us raile though it availe not much Me thinkes those paire of noblest brothers gone Those that of Vertue had Dominon Might have suffizd thy wrath or if not those Their Vertues might which did all worth enclose All worthes I say that might be thought or found In two so young there could not more abound Of if not those their Mothers showers of tears Which fell like raine sent from the weeping Sphears Who wept in pity too or if not these The new chang'd Virgins prayers might appease No sooner were they ty'd in wed-lockes bandes But thy inveteracies untwines their handes No sooner were those lovely Turtles pairde Scarse of those rites and ordinations sharde Which God for man decreed I streight way thy Ire Sweepes all before thee like Promethean fire Virgins will curse thee ever and forbeare The sacred Jugall wedding Ring to weare And so empoverish nature of her wealth Because thou rak'st up all her joyes by stealth But these cou'd not suffize thee he alone Was the Idea 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 thou doatedst on His brothers like the two great Lampes of light That guilde the heavenly Orbes by day and night So grac'd thy Trophes wonne thee such renowne Without this third thou couldst not winne the Crowne But thou dealtst poorely to insinuate Enseebleing him I nay with the selfe-same fate And cause of sicknes which our Barons killd Killd him high providence must be fullfilld No strugling 'gainst the streame no stopping tide Birthes of this nature mortalls cannot hide The end of our creation was to die Death being the fine of all mortalitie Then cease to waile his losse his soule 's a Jeâ— Fixde in the Sun-raiâ—s like a Diadem Thrice honoured Lady count not that a losse Which even the Angels cover to engrosse With Davids sorrow mourne him while alive But dead doe not against your knowledge strive The losse of friends more sorrowes doe not get If rightly understood then benefit We sorrow for them when we thinke of Earth But when of Heaven and that most sacred birth We doe rejoyce and their joyes emulate Till we in happinesse possesse like state You have more sonnes and many more may have Leave mourning these then Earth is mankinds Grave On ROBERT POVVTRELL of Westhallam Esquire IF love to knowledge or good partes The Muses friend and true deserts A man enshrind in
sooner went to heave'ns felicity I heard him sighing say good God that I Should languish in this vaile of misery Seeing so many able lusty and strong Some powerfull in estates great yet young Some tympani'de with honours potentates Grand Seigneiores governours of states That Midas-like with an Elixar touch Turn'd all to gould they handled quoth he that such As these can dy and leave this vaile of cares And I that loath it languish still in teares Because I cannot leave it love to my God Hath made my soule and body fall at od And from my dying breath I this impart Wishing those ould companions now depart Base fortunes goodes which to their harts men binde He estimated not Vertues of the minde Were his endowments his purchas'd store Gave sustenance and still releiv'd the poore With open hand and hart just like a ashowre Sent in dry Aprill so did he freely powre His bounteons almes like as the free Sunn Gives to all earthly things Vegetation Life and full growth shining alike on all From the lowest brambles to the Cedars tall So did his Charitable hand to all expresse Where just necessity was due cheerefulnes His garments were for warmth not wantonnesse By which he did humility expresse Implying vertue needed no gould lace To guild his russet coate with sacred grace Was his best suite there did he contemplate And in goodnes his soule ingratiate Loathing all vanities beneath the Moone Which are like shadowes after Sun set downe Night stormy tempests dangerous heats that fall Labour greise misery death the fine of all Him he most hated 'cause he dar'd not venter And with his pale dart naile him to the center Bringing him to those Moone eclipsed lights Where day light ever shines excluding nights Where peace and joy perpetually remaine Where death nor age nor any thing is vaine Vertue 's a castle which hardly can be wonne Till Death gives the retrait and cries be gone Or those Erispelas statuous tumours By long consumptions bred purgd ill humours Subjecting natures strong enforced meane Yet then in three things he wishde to be cleane Cleane in th' exterior part cleane in minde His soule assuredly he cleane did finde See what divinity pale weaknes brings Cleane soules delight not in corruptible things But faithles World who shin's most in thy grace Must expiate 't is God and natures race Life like an Autumne leafe shakeing flyes Now on the Tree it growes now falls now dies One minute brings us life that minute paine One minute brings us death that life againe On the right Honorable Hâ—Nâ—Y Pâ—Iâ—POINT Father to the right Honorable ROBERT Earle of Kingston VVHat siere thou be that hap's to cast an eye Vpon this monument Know here doth lie Vertues unparalleld piece goodnes grace Were hand maides to attend him in his face In never dying carracts thou mightst reade How meekenes and humility were displaide His charity I neede not here proclaime The needy handed by truth speake the same In courage Mars in patience Zephyrs winde Botl'd not so much sweetnes calme and kinde Judgements sole ground his tongue did solely speake And since hee s gone best judgments are grown weake Smooth Plato's stile and Cicere's Eloquence Survivde by him in him they did commence For from his lip 's such honnyde stile did come As would make Tully mute strike Rhetorique dumbe Not Aeâ—chilus such wanton laies did sing As he did heavenly sacred ravishing This makes the Muses mourne 'cause he is fled And not their tongues alone but phrase is dead Plato held swarmes of Bees so did not he Yet he from Plato gaind the maistery In his familiar speech now liv'd those Swans That of him sung heavenly Io Paeans Our latter age for Stile Sound Case and Tense Of former times would gaine preeminence Bounty Goodnes Hospitality The poores friend Foe to prodigality Patience neighbour-like Love and all Artes The Card'nall vertues of the inward partes Sweete consolations of all holy mindes Which like to chaines man to heaven bindes All mentall Vertues soveraignes of the soule He had in hart and did in minde en-roule What goodnes man could boast merit or raise In him th' Epitome was well worthy praise And yet he bragd not ostentation And his free thoughts were at disunion Farewell thrice happy Harry happy hee That leaves behinde him such a memorie Then reader when thou read'st and this name heares On this thou canst not looke without soome teares On the worthy Gentleman Sir HENRY Aâ—ARD of Fauston 1635 AS the poore Birde when Summers height resignes Her high Meridian to the â—cy signes VVhich scornefully dart through the watry Clouds To see Earths braveries in witherd shroudes The silly Larke then to salute the day Gets upon wing as though she would assay Some cheerefull notes to sing then beholding Faire Summer spent after the cheerefull spring Downe falls her notes a cherripping she keepes Yet knowes not well whether she sings or weepes She sings in thought of Summer but she cries To thinke of Winters â—ragicke miseries In this extreame all mourne for thy depart That living knew thee though now dead thou art Muse thou hast had much worke but now thy Pen Hath found a subject worth a Diadem Two noble Heuries worthes thou late didst sing This third deserves thy best of sonnetting Sad fate it proves to us when as your eyes From comicke streines sing tragicke Elegies Yet though we cannot contradict the Fates In spight of them we can bewaile our states Methinkes I heare the neighbour habiting groves Where with shrill bugles he did chant their loves In piteous order say who now shall guide Or man our harmelesse heards from being destroyde The brawny Oake growne Ash the Elme and Yewe In this sad season quite have lost their hue Their mountant armes like hunts-men alwaies seene Apparelled in Summers livery greene Looke not like July but Septembers wane When every flowre from Tellus brests are tane Thus every signe contrariously does goe Prefiguring calamity and woe Whence growes the cause why nature had assignd Thy losse deare Agard by them thus divin'd Yet th' art not lost thy one part lives on Earth Thy other in Elizium has new birth For thy unparalleld goodnes needes must stand As a remarkeable mirrour to this Land Let gentiles view their faces there they 'le finde An un-faind purity an up-right minde A conscience never went without a feast A happy burthen for a troubled brest A brow that never frownd upon the poore But where necessity was there went his store His fleece was apt for clothing and his purse Was ever open to the Orphants nurse And since we are dissecting let his ese Stand for a patterne of humility Where he himselfe annua'ly did read Those principals that now last though hee 's dead His hands bore justice scales his countries cause Ev'nly he manadged by her just lawes Not sparing greatnes feareing power or might But scorning favour did to all men right The scales of justice here he